Forward March
by B.A. Tyler
Summary: Set in the early 1970s. Margaret arrives home from work to some expected, but still difficult, news.


**Forward March**

With just the smallest of sighs, Margaret put the letter down on the kitchen counter and decided it was all right to have a little Scotch before supper. After all, it wasn't every day your third marriage officially ended in divorce, so what the hell. Take a moment, have a drink.

She was in the process of pouring when P.J. came bounding through the front door, high-energy as always. She threw her school books onto the kitchen table, gave Margaret a kiss hello on the cheek, and only then did she discern her mom's mood. She glanced at the glass of Scotch, then studied her mom's face. "What's up?"

Margaret gestured toward the divorce decree that'd come in the day's mail. P.J. picked up the letter and skimmed it, making subconscious _hmmm _sounds. "So it's official," was all she said.

"Yep," Margaret said and took another sip of her strong drink. She dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and stretched out her legs, kicked off her shoes. She'd been on her feet all day at the hospital. Sure, supper had to be made, but she was in "pamper Margaret" mode at the moment, after that damn letter had taken an ordinary day and turned it a little melancholy. Not much, but yeah, a little.

P.J. came over and gave her a hug, careful not to cause her to spill her drink. "You all right, Mom?"

"You bet."

P.J. took a step back to once again study her mom. "Because, you know, this is what you wanted."

"Absolutely," Margaret nodded hard. "I have no regrets, P.J."

"OK, good."

P.J. didn't say it, but Margaret knew she wasn't sorry to see Glenn officially out of the picture. He'd been a good stepfather to her, had treated her well, but the fighting and tension between her mom and stepdad had to have been rough on her. The house certainly felt much more serene since Glenn had moved out about six months ago. And as an added bonus, she and P.J. were growing closer.

Pamela Jean had been the result of marriage #2, which Margaret had jumped into less than two years after the Korean War came to an end. Lester was a heart surgeon at Boston Mercy, and in retrospect, Margaret should've known the marriage didn't stand a chance. Since when did she and surgeons mix? Well, with any kind of permanence, that is.

That marriage was almost as brief as the one with Donald Penobscot had been, but at least she got her beautiful daughter out of it. Pamela Jean was known as Pammy for the first six years of her life, then Pam, and then when she was 11, she declared she wanted to be called by her initials P.J., if that was OK. That was _very _OK with Margaret, who found herself reminded of B.J. Hunnicutt every time she said "P.J.," and that could never be anything but a good association.

The marriage with Glenn, also known as #3, had certainly been Margaret's longest (nine years, three months, and twelve days, but who was counting?), but the last couple years of it had been frightfully contentious. It just wasn't healthy, and Margaret knew it wasn't ever going to get better. They split as amicably as possible under the circumstances, and now… well, now it was officially in the rear-view mirror, as evidenced by that letter written in legalese on her kitchen counter.

P.J. was still standing in front of her, looking concerned, and Margaret didn't want her worrying. "I'm fine, P.J.," she repeated. "Just give me a few minutes to enjoy this drink and then I'll get going on supper, all right? Promise."

The teenager smiled and gave a nod, then made a beeline for the fridge to get a soda. Over her shoulder, she said, "So can I complain about a guy, or is that only going to remind you of _your _guy situation?"

Margaret waved a hand. "I don't have a 'guy situation.' I'm perfectly happy to be flying solo, thank you very much. So sure, complain away. What happened? Wait, let me guess, it's Robbie, right?"

P.J. gave a big, melodramatic sigh. "Of course. He's so exasperating, Mom!" She was getting riled up as she spoke, and began to make exaggerated gestures with her arms. Something she got from her father. "He and I are teamed up in science class and most of the time, he's a good partner, but today he wasn't listening to me even though I knew he was doing the experiment wrong. I showed him the instructions in the book and even then he acted like his way was still the right way. He would not listen!"

Margaret could relate. Even though things had gotten gradually better over the years, and were still getting better, most guys still had difficulty dealing with smart, strong-willed women. Margaret had been running into these kinds of frustrations her whole life, and now her daughter was finding out that this was the way of the world. Hop on board and buckle up, kiddo, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said as she downed the last of her Scotch. "You're a very smart and capable young lady. Don't let Robbie or anyone else tell you otherwise."

Winding down now that she'd gotten her annoyance out of her system, P.J. said, "Well eventually the teacher came over to see how we were doing and he backed up what I was saying, and Robbie felt bad then. He apologized to me."

"Oh good."

"I like him, Mom. I mean," she took a pause, looked very earnest, "I really, _really _like him. But sometimes he drives me nuts!"

Margaret burst into laughter, thinking, yeah, that's about as succinct as you can get about the man conundrum. When she got her breath, she told her daughter, "I like Robbie a lot, too, and I think he's good for you. Most of the time, anyway. Don't give up on him, P.J. He's got potential."

She stood up and put her glass in the kitchen sink, then looked from the stove to the fridge back to the stove. "What do you want for supper, hon? I'm at a loss."

P.J. finished her soda, tossed the can into the trash, and announced, "You had a long day at work and then came home to your official divorce letter. I had a bad day at school because Robbie made me mad. So I say we treat ourselves and go out to eat at Mario's. But, uh…" She had the good sense to look sheepish. "You're going to have to pay, because I don't have any money."

Margaret laughed again, throwing an arm around her daughter's shoulders and pulling her close. "You know, that sounds like a terrific idea," she said, realizing the best remedy for her mood was to get out tonight, be among other people. Plus Mario's was a couple blocks' walk away and the fresh air would do her good. "See what I mean? You _are _very smart."

As they pulled on coats and headed out the door, P.J. turned serious again. "I'm really sorry, Mom. Nobody should have to go through three divorces."

Margaret loved that P.J. was such a compassionate and thoughtful kid. Despite the mini melodrama of her own day, she was still focused on her mom's state of mind. "All three marriages were a learning experience, P.J. And it took me a long time to figure it out, but I've finally realized that I'm no good as a married person. I'm better off on my own." She heard the echo of her own words and quickly added, "With my ridiculously smart, sweet daughter by my side, of course. The two of us are going to be just fine."

P.J. grinned. "You bet we are."

Margaret locked the door behind them and paused for a moment, watching Pamela Jean head down the walk. The sun was shining, the air felt good, and the two of them were going out to have a delicious Italian meal. It was a good day.


End file.
